Sickly Obsessions
by ThatLittleWriter
Summary: A man falls in love with someone he may never meet, a simple mind-twist turns into a sickly obsession.  One shot.


A/N: Tumblr; littlewriter-fromtheheart(dot)umblr(dot)com/post/13226617340/usuk-sickly-obsessions  
>Deviantart; thatlittlewriter(dot)deviantart(dot)comart/UsUk-Sickly-Obsessions-270575483

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><p>There was a man, not just any man, a true <em>gentleman<em> as he called himself, and correcting anyone who calls him otherwise. He worked hard, _very _hard. He was excellent in what he did, no flaw in his work was ever visible. However, this man was seen as cold and cruel, those with wise thinking summed it down to abject solitude, others turned their noses away, describing the atmosphere as "chilly" or "frightful" whenever he was around.  
>He never spoke of anything interesting, his lips were constantly set in a firm line. The occasional tongue would poke out to dampen his dry mouth, other than that he never spoke of anything other than business. He wouldn't take nor give a joke to lighten the matter, he relied on his "intimidating aura", to trap the customers in his deals, once they were to step into <em>his <em>business, whether they had actually started or not, they became _his _clients. No questions asked on the subject, wrapped in fear they have no choice but to agree to the terms and conditions given, concluding in a successfully signed contract. To call it unfair was a little harsh, he was a terrifying person but he wasn't a let down, taking pride in all he did without fail, working early in the morning to late in the night. _How did he do it? _Completely flawless right?  
>Wrong.<p>

The clock read 22:13, the office building was empty, minus the late night cleaner, a secretary and to no surprise, Arthur himself. Despite the bags from his eyes he'd kept pushing himself further.  
>"M-Mr. Kirkland?" A shaky voice approached.<br>"Yes, what is it?" Naturally his tone was harsh and snappy in the workplace, and he'd rarely make eye contact with his employees when talking.  
>"It's late, yo-you really should go home." A deep sigh sounded, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't have agreed more. Papers subtly smacked down onto his desk, his secretary had already taken haste in scurrying away, <em>typical but not in the least bit surprising<em> he thought to himself. He tided up briskly, pens away, drawers closed and papers stacked from corner to corner, striding over to the door taking his coat from the peg, and exiting the room after having flicked off the lights switch to be on his way home.

Now this man, this _gentleman_, frightening appearance, cold tone and cruel attitude, wasn't entirely what he was seen to be. He kept a secret locked behind closed doors, he kept a secret deep within him, he kept a secret that _no one_ is to ever know of.

Like usual, he'd be walking the short distance to his home, it wasn't far from his work but it was far enough to have a whole town between, when 2 corners away he'd stop in his tracks, pivot sideways, hands in his pocket with his coat done up from bottom to top.  
>He'd never really liked it living in America, but it if meant good business he would even go far down south to the freezing cold, but it was at this <em>American<em> restaurant that he'd treasured most. From his right pocket he lifted out a small camera, it wasn't much but it took good quality photos, switched it on, zoomed in and got it focused. From the day he'd spotted this marvellous being, he'd been completely infatuated. On the day it was a shock to him, but now it's just second hand nature.  
>A young American boy worked at this very place, large in structure with the face of an angel, as he'd described. He denied it being a simple crush, or a weird quirk he'd developed, he believed he was in love with this person, yet he'd never met him, talked to him, smelt him or even heard him.<br>A quick snap of the camera flashed, and as if nothing had happened he turned it off and tucked it away back into his pocket, taking his feet in front of him for home.

The clock now read 3:36 AM. Once again he'd been up, having printed off his latest picture of this _beautiful _young man, he had hung it up. To add to his large collection above the mantelpiece, set but a few feet away from the sofa, was yet another picture he was to treasure close to his _heart_.

He had sat on that sofa for several hours by now, back straight, knees together with his hands resting gently on his thighs, fingers entangled with one another, and he just stared, no to say stare would be a misjudgement, he _gazed _at his 'collection', of this man without a name. He wasn't creepy, he wasn't crazed, he wasn't shallow nor psychotic. Everyone is entitled to do what makes them happy, as long as no harm is done he thought.

This man, this _gentleman_, was sick, he was deluded, but he was happy, just like this.

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><p>Another one-shot, since I'm terrible at chapter-fics, or even an actual story line to stick to.<p>

But who else could see Arthur doing this? No one? Just me? Aww ok, was worth a try haha.  
>Yes, for those who are wondering, this young American boy is the bubbly Alfred F. Jones we all know and love, I left out his description certainly not by accident, and am now just making up a suitable excuse since my aim is to leave my readers guessing, as mentioned in my tumblr. XD<p>

I hope you like it. I was struggling with a plot today.  
>Some writer I am huh? xD Pretty much just started and can't stick to it, typical.<p>

Here you go though ^^ Whilst I use my other account to go spam some groups.  
>Yes I'm sorry guys, but I am currently anonymous. I do have duplicate accounts, "mains" as they're called. My self esteem is terribly low, and the cases have been where if my dear friend, and even family were to know of my works I'd feel like it's not good enough. I know this makes me a terrible person, but I do plan to tell them, once I know they like something not just because I am a friendrelative. And just because I love to write for you guys3

-Okay I need to shut up before I go over board. Thanks for reading


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